


The Mountains and the Sea

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Books, Canon Compliant, Ceremonial Dress, Dimivain Discord Gift Exchange 2020, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, M/M, Poetry, Post-War, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23280463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: At the victory feast in Fhirdiad, a diplomatic book club is established.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 13
Kudos: 80





	The Mountains and the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> For gnat in the DImivain Discord Gift Exchange

**i.** _drink, my friends, and make merry / for together we won’t tarry_

The book club, as it later comes to be known, is Petra’s idea. 

“Now that I will go home,” she says during the victory feast in Fhirdiad three and a half weeks after the end of the war, “I need to keep practicing my languages. I have been here a long time, but I want to come back and visit. Speaking well helps ease travel.” 

“That is a very good point,” Ferdinand, who has just come back with a tray of water cups for her, Ingrid, and Dimitri, agrees.

“How about a book club?” Sylvain suggests as he has ambled over in Ferdinand’s absence with a goblet of wine. “We’re all going to be reading and writing Super Serious Stuff from now on. We should relax.”

“That,” Ingrid starts before her face screws up like she’s tasted a lemon while Petra and Ferdinand look both excited and interested, “is a very sensible suggestion.”

“Of course it is!” Sylvain says, and he reaches out to nudge Dimitri who has been more than content simply to sit and listen to this conversation. “Hey, Your Highness, what do you think?” 

Everyone looks at him. Dimitri looks at where Sylvain’s hand lingers on his shoulder. When he looks back up, he doesn’t feel particularly reassured. But he is King now, and he needs to be a proper leader.

“It is a good idea,” he says because he does honestly think this. “Books are expensive, though, and if we mailed a copy between ourselves some people would read too much into it.” 

“Bleh,” Sylvain complains, still with his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, “no fun.” 

“How about poetry?” Ingrid says, slowly warming to the idea with Dimitri’s endorsement. “If it is not too long, we can circulate a copy with normal correspondence.” 

“I like this idea,” Petra agrees, nodding and smiling brightly. “We have many poems that are also jokes and short tales in my home.” 

“It is a shame so much of Adrestian poetry is in epic form,” Ferdinand muses after swallowing a mouthful of water. 

“What of those romance verses?” Sylvain asks, which makes Ferdinand and Petra both perk up and Ingrid raise her eyebrows. 

“I have read some,” Petra says, her smile broadening further. “They are a lot of fun.” 

“That they are!” Ferdinand laughs, setting his empty cup down on the table they’re sharing. “I am surprised they are known outside of Adrestia.”

“Yes,” Petra agrees, eyebrows also going up. “Some are –”

She and Ferdinand exchange looks. Ingrid’s eyebrows begin to attempt to escape her forehead. 

“Oh,” Sylvain says, and he pats Dimitri’s shoulder in a manner that indicates he is part of some sort of big secret, “you would be surprised.” 

Dimitri remembers, very suddenly, that Sylvain had back in their academy days lent him a small book of Adrestian romance verses. It was a beat up, dog-eared copy that had clearly gone through a number of hands. Despite its condition, all of the contents were legible with different hands and inks repairing the paper and letters after wear and tear. Dimitri had appreciated the care-worn nature of the book nearly as much as the poems themselves. 

“I can start us off then,” Sylvain says, removing his hand from Dimitri’s shoulder to flash them all a winking thumbs up; Dimitri misses the weight. “I’ve got a favourite memorised.” 

“Of course you do,” Ingrid murmurs, but she smiles as well. 

Dimitri shakes his head. He can feel himself starting to smile, still a strange feeling on his face. Sylvain turns his goblet between his fingers with his thumb as Petra finally takes a drink from her water. 

“I suppose it is harmless, copying and sharing a few poems,” Dimitri says. 

“I’ll take that as our King’s official approval for some frivolous state communication!” Sylvain jests as he raises his goblet. 

“Do not take it so far,” Ingrid chides as Dimitri grimaces. 

“Personal communication,” Dimitri says because he knows he has to be clear. “I do know the content of some of the poems.” 

“Oh?” Petra says, and she turns to Ferdinand with a very eager expression; Ferdinand, who had reached for his empty cup reflexively at Sylvain’s mock toast, is unable to hide his surprise and sudden, embarrassed apprehension. “You must explain those to me, Ferdinand. I very much want to understand everything that is written.” 

“Oh,” Ferdinand says, louder than he usually is nowadays; his cheeks and ears turn pink and he takes a moment to clear his throat. “I, ah, yes, of course.” 

Sylvain’s free hand descends upon Dimitri’s shoulder again. Once as a pat. The second to squeeze. Dimitri feels himself flushing as Sylvain’s grip tightens and his grin turns positively wicked. 

“So,” Sylvain says, and he leers in a teasing way at Dimitri with a wink for Petra, “no need to be shy in our choices or our questions! It is _personal_ communication, after all.” 

“Sylvain,” Dimitri says, slightly choked, as Ingrid uses her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose because she cannot slap either of Sylvain’s hands due to one holding a goblet and the other their King. “Please, some semblance of composure.” 

“Yes, yes,” Sylvain mock-huffs as Petra and Ferdinand, the latter of whom is still slightly pink, laugh at them both. 

**ii.** _through the mountains and across the sea / our words of love and friendship will be key_

“Really,” Dimitri says, so late that evening that the sun is beginning to turn the night horizon purple and blue, “did you get me to agree to a potentially risqué letter exchange?” 

Sylvain rolls his eyes. “I did not make you agree to any such thing,” he says as he helps Dimitri untie the complicated side ribbons of his kingly dress. “You fully came up with the terms of our little book club yourself.” 

Dimitri rolls his eyes back. He lifts his arms so Sylvain can work better in the dim lighting of his quarters. Sylvain himself is already undressed down to his small clothes. Dimitri is aware they both stink of the sweat of the day and the smells of the feast. They don’t have time to draw a bath as well as catch a couple hours of sleep. 

“We’re going to stink tomorrow,” Sylvain says as if he is able to pluck thoughts directly from Dimitri’s mind, which is a frankly terrifying thought and possibility. “Lift your arms straight up; I don’t want to undo the sleeves.” 

They wrestle for a while with the complicated kingly dress. Dimitri is forced to sit down on his dressing chair with the majority of his outer tunic over his head but still attached to his neck. Sylvain draws a candle close on the dressing table and curses to himself as he tries to work the fine pearl buttons to release the collar. 

“This is the _least_ romantic way to end the night,” Sylvain groans as he accidentally tears one of the delicate buttonholes. 

“I’m too tired to do anything romantic,” Dimitri says because he is.

Sylvain laughs a little at that. He shifts around, presumably to place the button on the dressing table where it won’t roll away and get lost. 

“I want to at least get to kiss you, my liege,” Sylvain mock-whines as he picks with even more care at the last button. “How am I to do that through the tyranny of your clothes?” 

“If you can get me out of them successfully,” Dimitri says, lips bunching the expensive fabric as he speaks, “you may kiss me.” 

“Well!” Sylvain chirps, finally releasing the last button on the collar without tearing it. “You sure know how to motivate your faithful. Lift your chin, Your Highness, and I will unchain you!” 

Dimitri snorts but does as he is told. His front shirt laces are not actual chains, but the delicate ribbons feel as good as that by this point. He waits as patiently as he can as Sylvain carefully pulls the ribbons out until he can finally pull the tunic up and over Dimitri’s head. Dimitri blinks, the cooler night air a relief on his face. He reaches up, wiping his nose and massaging his bad eye. It aches from a combination of too long being covered and how little Dimitri has slept.

Even since he began to feel less like a beast and more like a human, he has not –

“Oh,” Sylvain says, fabric rustling as he folds it, “did I hurt you?” 

“No,” Dimitri murmurs, scrubbing away the instinctive tears. “I am just a bit tired.” 

“Well, yeah,” is the response, and Dimitri opens his good eye to find Sylvain grinning lopsidedly at him in the candlelight. “You are King now, and you are in a position of great power in Fódlan. Along with the professor.” 

“I feel bad,” Dimitri says because he does, even as Sylvain huffs. “I do. Byleth and I both know we aren’t cut out for this.” 

Sylvain sighs. He sets Dimitri’s tunic on top of his doublet, which is stacked atop of his pantaloons, stockings, lower mail, garters, and knitted lower mail. Dimitri’s armour is on the stand ready for cleaning in his adjacent reception room. He is still dressed in the majority of his light mail, inner tunic, and underthings. 

“If you were cut out for leadership, we wouldn’t be like this,” Sylvain points out as he reaches for the hem of Dimitri’s light mail. 

This is true. Dimitri lifts his arms again so that Sylvain can unbuckle the straps beneath his armpits and then carefully pull the linked metal over his head. During the war, Dimitri had resisted taking off this much of his clothes until it was absolutely necessary. He knows his body in its bare and vulnerable state is not particularly imposing. He knows that the handsome, attractive qualities have all been marred. 

Sylvain is the first person he truly trusted with this part of himself. He is, at the heart of it, the only person he can trust with himself because Sylvain understands. He may not be as marred as Dimitri in the physical sense, but he understands what keeps Dimitri up at night and lives as cruel, unnatural voices in his own brain. 

“No,” Dimitri agrees as Sylvains leans down and places a kiss on his forehead, his brow, the bridge of his nose, “we would not.” 

Sylvain smiles. Really and very warm. He straightens again and pulls off the knitted mail over Dimitri’s head. He chuckles a little as he drapes it over his left arm, reaching out with his right hand to rub a mark on Dimitri’s right neck. 

“Maybe that’s enough for the night,” he says, motioning in Dimitri’s line of sight towards the bed. “Let’s catch some shut eye.” 

Dimitri breathes in. Out. He lifts his left hand. Covers Sylvain’s with his own. 

“Yes,” he says, starting to rise. “Thank you, Sylvain. For everything.” 

Sylvain snorts, but his smile softens on all the edges that usually linger. He steps forward after Dimitri fully straightens and presses a soft kiss to his lips. 

“Of course, Dimitri,” he murmurs. “Anytime.” 

This is their victory.


End file.
